Perfection is Dark
by Surreptitious
Summary: -Night closed its shades around her bed and she was lost." Ginny is haunted still by Tom, by pain, and by human imperfection. One-shot.


_Disclaimer: I own nothing. As in, you sue me, you get dirty lint. No money in these pockets._

**A/N:** The fact that she remains consistently unnamed throughout the fic is deliberate. It keeps her character vague enough for me to work with in a One-shot, and adds a spidge of distance to the scads of angst I've shamelessly thrown at you.

**Perfection is Dark**

She slowly sat down in her seat, oblivious to the din of gossip and laughter in the class behind her. The professor gave her a small nod as she entered. She didn't return it.

Her eyes gazed blankly at the page in front of her. Gritting her teeth, she tried to get her bearings. This was…Arithmancy. She barely heard the teacher call out a page number, and her book clacked open on the tabletop like the rest. Automatic. Jumbles of numbers and words blurred heavily beneath her stare.

She blinked hard at the floor and raised her eyes to the window. Sunlight lanced through, too intense, too bright, too bright.

Damn it. She raised a hand and obscured her eyes with the dark fabric of her robe, wincing.

A whirlwind of voices spun in the air around her head. Carefree, spirited, alive…she wondered absently at that. Was life really that easy for some? Yes, yes it was, her mind answered. Her heart chimed in, reminding her she had no room for self-pity these days.

She kept her head lowered, making small motions with her quill. The tip never really touched the parchment…but as long as it appeared so, no one would bother pointing it out. It allowed her mind to drift into a sort of haze. She shuttered out the class and sank into her own mind.

The next class was no better. The professor rapped hard on her desk when she failed to respond to a repeated question. It startled her; she mumbled the answer and mentally drifted out of the classroom when he nodded reluctant satisfaction.

To the professor, and to most of the class, she was merely tired, lethargic from lack of sleep. Well, she was, yes…But worse than they imagined.

She felt, oftentimes, like she was mutating, morphing into some kind of nocturnal freak. Nightmares, nightmares…Tom's face floated in the darkness behind her eyes, and she was never, ever alone. Night closed its shades around her bed and she was lost. The maelstrom of silky laughter and devastating smirks and flashing white teeth and soft whispers to do such monstrosities…Her hands clenched violently under her desk.

She was silent through lunch. She smiled slightly, nodding to questions flung her way. Her eyes stayed flat. No one called attention to her immobility. A few close friends looked at her worriedly, but kept silent. They carried on a steady stream of good cheer, attempting their friend's inclusion in conversation. After too many monosyllabic answers, they simply gave up.

She left lunch, alone again. Next class was usually her favorite –several friends that she could chat with. Usually.

Plodding down the hall, she dreaded it. Dreaded the questions, feared the answers she might give if she wasn't careful. And so she was cautious. She fended off the question in the only way she knew how – a curt, "I'm fine" to acquaintances and those who didn't probe further. To those who did, a slightly harsh, "I don't want to talk about it" generally served the same purpose. A withdrawn hand, a bewildered stare, a slow nod. They knew to back off.

She walked quickly from class to class. It wasn't that she was eager to be back in her rooms, or any other place for that matter. She tried to avoid schedules and planning. She was solitary now: a consequence of having a living memory haunting your mind all day. The solitude she couldn't grasp within herself she found – made – without. There were not many similar people anymore.

She scribbled absentmindedly across the free space on her homework scroll. Her eyes locked on her hand without seeing. When she lifted the pencil, a faint outline of the word "drained" stood out. Vague…

Funny how she could relate to such a tiny, simple word.

Walking down the hall after classes she stopped. A book bag abrasively jarred the hand lifted to tuck a strand of hair back in place.

Pause.

She was one, alone in the hall, even though the hall whirled with crowds of students plowing through after class.

She looked around with bleak eyes and sighed. The other students, with their flashy smiles, expensive robes and high marks, simply never got it. In a way she envied them their seemingly perfect lives – or at least the ability to _pretend_ they lead their perfect life. But as she slumped down in a deserted hallway, arranging her books around her form, she pitied them. They were caught, she reflected. She stared down the lonely corridor, lights dimmed eerily. Even though they may not know it – they were trapped with the rest of the world, wizarding _or_ muggle. This incredible pressure to be perfect, every day in every possible situation.

She rifled through her bag, and her fingers closed around a worn blue notebook. She set it down on her lap and grasped her pencil, staring outside the window for inspiration. Her thoughts played over and over as she watched a couple arguing outside. _We always try to be perfect…every day…same thing…we have to be…perfect… Perfect…perfect…_

The young couple stood up, the girl with tears streaming from swollen eyes, the boy yelling harshly.

She opened her notebook to a blank page…

The boy threw his hands up in frustration, glared, stalked off. The girl collapsed, weeping.

The first words on the page:_ But we aren't…_


End file.
